The heavy velvet curtains in the theory classroom were drawn tight, blocking out the midday sun.

Elias Vance stood at the massive chalkboard. Dust fell from his chalk as he aggressively drew the intricate lines of a dark magic tactical array.

He stopped mid-stroke. He turned his head. His sharp eyes locked onto the back row.

Genevieve had an open textbook propped up over her face. Soft, rhythmic breathing came from behind the pages. She was fast asleep.

Elias slammed his knuckles against the chalkboard. The sharp crack echoed like a gunshot in the tiered classroom.

"Genevieve!" Elias barked. "Stand up and answer the question."

Genevieve jumped. The heavy book slid off her face and hit the desk. She rubbed her sleepy eyes, pushed her chair back, and stood up. She swayed slightly, leaning heavily on the desk for support.

"Assume you are trapped at the edge of the Abyss," Elias said, his voice dripping with condescension. "A high-tier shadow beast ambushes you. As a Child of the Night, how do you utilize the dark arrays to counterattack?"

The entire class turned around in their seats. They stared at the back row, waiting to see if the fallen genius still had her tactical brilliance.

Genevieve stared at the chalk diagram. Her Antediluvian instincts immediately supplied the answer: a single-strike obliteration spell, followed by three different escape routes.

She mentally crushed those thoughts. She cleared her throat and arranged her face into a mask of absolute, deadpan seriousness.

"The best tactic," Genevieve said loudly, her voice echoing in the quiet room, "is to immediately find a deep hole, bury yourself, and wait for the monster to eat its fill and leave. Rely on others to save you? By the time they arrive, you'll already be monster dung."

For two seconds, the classroom was dead silent.

Then, the room exploded. Dozens of students burst into roaring, uncontrollable laughter. The sound bounced off the stone walls.

Elias's face turned gray. His fist clenched so hard the chalk snapped into fine white powder.

He slammed both hands onto the podium.

"That is a disgrace to the Nightwalkers!" Elias roared over the laughter. "That is the behavior of a coward!"

Genevieve pouted. She crossed her arms, looking genuinely offended.

"Staying alive is the most important rule," Genevieve argued back. "Pride gets you killed."

She paused, then perfectly mimicked Rosalie's soft, breathy voice. "Besides, the weak should be protected, right?"

In the front row, Rosalie stiffened. Hearing her own manipulative catchphrase thrown out as a joke made her blood boil. She bit her lip so hard she tasted copper.

Elias took three deep breaths, trying to stop his heart from exploding. He glared at Genevieve through narrowed eyes.

"And what if no one comes to save you?" Elias asked through gritted teeth.

Genevieve shrugged. She threw her hands up in the air.

"Then I'll just close my eyes and get eaten," she said matter-of-factly. "It's not like I can outrun it anyway."

The last shred of respect anyone had for her shattered. The pureblood aristocrats in the middle rows sneered, shaking their heads in absolute disgust.

But on the far left side of the room, Dorian didn't laugh.

The blood alchemy genius sat perfectly still. He pushed his silver-rimmed goggles up the bridge of his nose. His sharp eyes cut through the crowd, locking onto Genevieve's face.

He saw the lazy slump of her shoulders. But beneath that, he caught a fleeting glimpse of sharp, calculating clarity in her eyes. His instincts screamed that this girl was faking it.

Elias waved his hand dismissively at Genevieve, treating her like a piece of garbage.

"Sit down," Elias spat. "Stop embarrassing yourself."

Genevieve dropped back into her chair without a single ounce of shame. She picked up her textbook, placed it back over her face, and adjusted her posture to get comfortable.

Elias called on Rosalie. Rosalie stood up, her voice sweet and clear, and delivered the textbook-perfect tactical answer.

Elias nodded in deep satisfaction. He spent the next five minutes praising Rosalie, using her brilliance to highlight Genevieve's pathetic failure.

Under her book, Genevieve rolled her eyes. She didn't care about the comparison. She just wanted to sleep.

When the bell finally rang, the students packed their bags quickly. As they walked up the aisle, they actively swerved to avoid Genevieve's desk, treating her like a contagious disease.

Genevieve took her time. She slowly shoved her book into her bag, stretched her arms over her head, and yawned.

Dorian stood by the door. He watched her isolated, unbothered figure walk down the aisle.

Why would a pureblood intentionally destroy her own reputation? Dorian's mind raced. He was hooked.

The midday bell echoed across the Academy's gothic courtyard.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves of the ancient, twisted oak trees, casting long shadows over the stone fountains. Students gathered in small groups, eating and gossiping.

Rosalie sat on a carved stone bench. Her fingernails dug into the fabric of her skirt.

Inside her mind, the Destiny Plunder System's virtual panel flashed with angry red warning lights.

[Target: Genevieve. Hostility Level: 0. Plunder Mechanism: FAILED.]

Rosalie ground her teeth together. The system's script required Genevieve to act like an arrogant, abusive noble. Rosalie was supposed to play the victim, trigger Genevieve's rage, and steal her luck points in front of a crowd.

But Genevieve was acting like a slippery pile of mud. She refused to fight back. The system was completely stuck.

A few feet away, a group of low-tier vampires sat on the grass, whispering loudly.

"I heard Lord Marcus threw her out of his bed," a girl with thick glasses gossiped. "The shock broke her brain."

"No way," a tall boy argued. "My cousin works at the Court. He said her pureblood core rotted. She's literally mentally regressing."

Rosalie listened to the rumors. A new plan formed in Rosalie's mind. If Genevieve wouldn't attack her naturally, Rosalie would force a public confrontation.

Rosalie stood up and walked over to the outdoor buffet tables. She picked up a small, crystal plate holding a rare, high-tier blood pudding. It smelled intoxicatingly sweet.

She arranged her features into a mask of pure, sisterly devotion. She walked toward the dark corner under the oldest oak tree, where Genevieve sat alone in the shade.

The system chimed in Rosalie's head: [If target slaps the food away, Host will gain 5 Prestige Points.]

Rosalie stopped in front of Genevieve. She held the plate out with both hands.

"Sister," Rosalie said, her voice loud enough for the gossiping students to hear. "I stood in line to get this for you. I hope it brings your strength back."

Genevieve was leaning against the tree trunk, absentmindedly pulling blades of grass from the dirt. She looked up. She stared at the pudding, then looked at Rosalie's overly eager face.

Genevieve didn't slap the plate. She didn't yell.

Instead, she snatched the plate right out of Rosalie's hands.

Without a word of thanks, Genevieve grabbed the small silver spoon and shoved a massive bite of the pudding into her mouth.

"Oh, wow," Genevieve mumbled, her mouth completely full. "This is actually good. Way better than the garbage the Court chefs make."

Rosalie's hands were still frozen in the air. Her prepared speech about being bullied died in her throat.

Genevieve scraped the plate clean in three seconds flat. She shoved the empty crystal plate back into Rosalie's hands.

"What? Is this it?" Genevieve complained loudly, making sure her voice carried across the courtyard. "Are you feeding a beggar? Go get me three more portions, and hurry up!"

Rosalie's face twitched. She gripped the empty plate so hard her knuckles turned white. She forced a stiff, painful smile.

"I'm sorry, sister," Rosalie forced the words out. "They ran out."

Genevieve's face instantly dropped. She scowled, looking at Rosalie with pure, unfiltered disgust.

"You are completely useless," Genevieve snorted, waving her hand as if shooing away a fly. "Can't even fetch a simple snack properly. Get out of my sight before you ruin my appetite further."

The students on the grass stopped talking. They stared at Rosalie, their eyes filled with weird, judging looks.

Rosalie felt her face burn with intense humiliation. She spun around and walked away fast, her posture stiff and awkward.

[WARNING!] The strange entity in her mind shrieked. [Target's behavior registers as pure greed and laziness, not aristocratic bullying! Host subservience detected. Charm Level decreased by 2 points!]

Rosalie rushed into the nearest stone bathroom. She slammed her fist into the marble sink, cracking the mirror above it.

Back under the tree, Genevieve stretched her legs out and smiled.

Her shameless tactic worked perfectly. As long as she acted like a greedy, lazy idiot without actual violent intent, the system couldn't touch her.

A shadow fell over her.

A low-tier, commoner boy stood nervously in front of her. His hands shook as he held out a cheap, plastic bottle of tomato-flavored blood drink.

Genevieve didn't hesitate. She grabbed the bottle, popped the cap, and took a drink.

"Thanks," she said casually.

The boy's face lit up with shock and joy. He bowed awkwardly and ran off.

Up on the second-floor balcony, Dorian pushed his goggles up his nose. He watched Genevieve drink the cheap tomato blood. The mystery around her just kept getting deeper.

The sharp smell of sulfur and preserved blood filled the Academy's alchemy lab.

Afternoon sunlight sliced through the wooden blinds, casting striped shadows across the metal workbenches. Dorian stood over a bubbling beaker, carefully adding drops of purple liquid into a blood fusion mixture.

Ronan, a tall combat-course vampire from an old family, leaned against the doorframe. He crossed his arms, watching Dorian work.

"I'm telling you, she's broken," Ronan said, frowning. "The Crimson Court must have tortured her. Nobody just loses their mind and acts like a clown for no reason."

Dorian didn't look up. He set his glass dropper down with a soft clink.

"You're blind, Ronan," Dorian said, his voice calm and analytical. "Her pureblood core is too dense. It isolates her. She's faking this pathetic persona to lower expectations. She's trying to blend in with the dirt."

Before Ronan could argue, a soft double-knock echoed on the frosted glass door.

Rosalie pushed the door open. The heavy scent of her floral perfume immediately clashed with the sterile smell of the lab.

She wore a soft, pastel sweater. She smiled warmly, her eyes locking onto Dorian.

The system panel in her mind glowed gold. [Target: Dorian. Genius Alchemist. High-value resource. Initiate charm protocol.]

Rosalie walked slowly toward the workbench. "Your precision is amazing, Senior Dorian," she said, her voice laced with a subtle, magical vibration meant to induce affection.

She pulled a leather-bound notebook from her bag. She stepped uncomfortably close to him, leaning over the table to point at a complex diagram of blood crystal extraction.

Dorian felt the unnatural shift in the air magic. The perfume burned his sensitive nose.

He took a smooth, deliberate step backward, completely dodging her physical proximity. He pushed his goggles up his nose and glanced at the notebook.

It was a trap question. The formula looked simple, but it required an innate, terrifying understanding of bloodline origins to solve without causing an explosion.

Dorian looked up. His eyes were flat and completely unaffected by her charm.

"This is a pureblood origin problem," Dorian said flatly. "You should ask your roommate, Genevieve."

Rosalie froze. Her sweet smile turned rigid.

"Sister Genevieve?" Rosalie repeated, her voice tight. "But... she's been so unwell lately. She can't even hold a basic spell together."

Ronan let out a sharp bark of laughter from the doorway.

"Perfect!" Ronan said, pushing off the doorframe. "This is the ultimate test. Take it to Genevieve. Let's see if she's actually brain-dead or just playing us."

Dorian nodded slowly. A spark of genuine excitement lit up his eyes.

"I agree," Dorian said, looking at Rosalie. "I am very curious to see how a pureblood handles this specific extraction variable. Go ask her."

Rosalie was trapped. The system alarms blared in her head, demanding she complete the interaction, but Dorian had completely shut her down.

She forced a nod. She grabbed her notebook, her knuckles turning white. She spun around and marched out of the lab, her heels clicking angrily against the floor tiles.

Ronan watched her go. He wrinkled his nose.

"That half-blood is exhausting," Ronan muttered.

Dorian didn't answer. He picked his dropper back up, but his mind was already miles away. He needed to know what Genevieve would do.

Across the campus, inside the dark, gothic dorm room, Genevieve lay in a woven hammock.

She had a cherry-blood lollipop shoved in her cheek. She held a trashy romance novel above her face, kicking her leg lazily over the edge of the hammock.

Suddenly, a sharp tickle hit her nose.

Genevieve sneezed violently. The hammock swung wildly.

She rubbed her nose, glaring at the ceiling. "Someone is definitely plotting against me," she muttered. She flipped the page of her book and went back to reading.